Fiercely
by taylortot
Summary: Roy and Riza are spies for an undercover organization and must fight against the odds and their stubborn attraction to one another. Like that'll work. AU. Royai. Complete


**A/N: So this started out as the original first chapter to Fire Away, but I suddenly had other ideas and other ways I wanted to develop the story, so I trashed this. However, I think it stands rather nicely on its own as a sort of AU Roy/Riza moment and I thought I'd share :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot yo**

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Roy Mustang had never been overtly fond of cars though he used to own one, especially when it came to driving them in unfamiliar places.

And now was a prime example of just exactly why the thought of driving anywhere left a bad taste in his mouth. He cussed under his breath and took a sharp turn to the right. In the back seat, a thunk followed by a curse word slipped through red, painted lips, and if he took the time to dare glance in the rearview mirror, he could see the slender body of a woman, half hanging out the window with a gun in her hand.

"Easy on the turns!" Her voice tore into the car with the wind, her hair coming undone as her finger pressed without hesitation on the trigger. The bullets hit the vehicles trailing behind them at maniac speeds, but they didn't slow. She darted back inside as she swore again. "Take the next left; it goes through the downtown area. We should be able to lose them in there."

"I've never driven downtown," he argued, gritting his teeth as the turn loomed in the distance.

Both of them ducked as a bullet shattered the back window and the car swerved. Glass cut into her exposed skin and rained around her as she covered her head. Roy looked in the back seat and saw the blood, but she was already moving; an unstoppable force. She pulled up her dress to an indecent height and yanked another gun out from the leather holster strapped to her thigh.

"I don't care, Mustang," she hissed scathingly at him as she unlocked the safety. "It's our only chance of escaping at this point." She peeked over the edge of the back seat and fired several rounds through the opening in the glass.

He grunted and took the turn sharply, tossing her against the door. "Get up here, Hawkeye," he said gruffly; calm, despite their dire situation. "I don't know where I'm going."

She crawled over the seat as gracefully as she could in her heels and tucked herself down into the passenger seat, hissing as she pulled a shard of glass out of her leg. The blood began well up and stain her skin, but she only pressed a hand to the wound before giving Roy directions.

"There's a parking garage in about two blocks and it has a back entrance hidden on the lower level," she said. "We should be able to hide back there until the coast is clear."

"Won't they find us?" he asked, wary about the idea of being trapped in something as cramped as a parking garage.

"Only if they are smarter than the last pair of idiots sent to chase us down." Her teeth were gritted and while she was trying to hide it, Mustang could see the pain on her face, barely there, tight, pulling against her skin.

He followed her directions; she'd always been more knowledgeable about the cities they snuck into and so it would do no good to argue against her like the first couple missions they'd completed together. It was difficult to swallow his pride, but there was nothing wrong with admitting that Riza Hawkeye knew what she was doing, because she did and she was damn good at it.

Once in the garage, he shut off the vehicle and darkness engulfed them. They could hear the rumbling of an engine in the building, echoing off the walls, and murmured voices dulled by the noise. They were being hunted. It bothered Mustang that he was being chased and he couldn't do a thing about it; back when he'd been part of the very thing he was running from, his first instinct had been to strike head on, not run away with his tail between his legs.

Little by little, the sounds of their pursuers began to disappear until silence rang in their ears. He felt the seat shift as Hawkeye moved and then her breath as she sucked in air quickly between her teeth and expelled it.

"You're bleeding," he finally said.

"It's nothing," she said quietly after a moment. "Just a scratch."

He seriously doubted it was nothing; he'd seen the brief flashes of blood, dripping across her skin in more places than just the one on her leg. But the fact of the matter was that compared to some of the other things he'd seen her go through in the past month, this really was nothing.

"We still need to get you cleaned up," he told her, starting the engine again. The room where they were staying should still be safe to go back to. They didn't acquire all the information they needed to obtain on their mission tonight to go back to the headquarters just yet, so getting back to the little motel was imperative anyway.

As quickly as he could manage, he drove back to their room, taking the dark streets at Hawkeye's instructions. He parked the car a couple blocks away to keep suspicion off their sleeping place. If one of the thugs who had been after them saw the broken glass on the back windshield, it would be all over for them. Once there, he turned off the vehicle and tossed the damned keys under the seat. They wouldn't be able to drive the shattered remains of this car anymore.

He slid out of the seat silently, and closed the door behind him. The sound of Hawkeye's heels clicking on the pavement let him know that she was at least standing on her own two feet, but as she came around the car to meet him, she was leaning heavily against the vehicle, and a stream of blood was twisting down the length of her leg.

Despite her tendency to shrug off help in favor of independence, he sidled up and wrapped an arm around her waist firmly, pulling an arm across the back of his neck and holding her wrist. She was hurt, and he understood that; knew that she did too. There was no reason for her to unwelcome this gesture from him.

She gave him an indignant look, but said nothing. He smiled to himself as they hobbled down the street, staying out of the pools of light, back to their motel room. He'd known her since they were children, but the woman he knew today was far from the Riza Hawkeye he'd been acquainted with when learning alchemy from her father. Back then, they'd been friends, and now. . .well, now it was hard to tell if they even liked each other at all half the time.

But it was in moments like this, if observed, that the obvious answer presented itself. Wordless communication between two people whose lives were inextricably intertwined, for possibly the rest of their days. They'd been working together in this kind of environment for just over a year now, and people would be blind to deny the kind of chemistry they had. It was unable to be replicated, impossible to be just a show for the rest of the world.

Roy unlocked their room and both of them stumbled inside. Hawkeye's fingers reached out and turned on the lamp in the corner as he shut the door behind them and then placed her at the end of the strictly made bed. Blood seeped from the cuts on her body - the glass had gotten her pretty deep in some places - and her face was tight with pain.

"We'll have to go back tomorrow night," she said as he went to the sofa bed - sheets tossed haphazardly around, pillows scattered and ruffled - and pulled out a bag from underneath it.

He shook his head at her. "We can focus on dangerous mission work after we bandage you up," he said. Her disregard for her own health was disconcerting at times; even after she suffered from a nasty gunshot to her shoulder only a few weeks ago, it had been the last thing on her mind at the time.

She frowned at him. "This is important, Mustang; we could be onto something huge here. And if you were the one to take this information back to Headquarters then -"

"I know that more than anyone," he insisted with a strict look her way as he knelt in front of her. "But you won't be getting any information if you completely ignore the fact that you couldn't even walk two blocks without my help." Christ, the gunshot wound was barely healed at all and she was already getting herself hurt again without recuperating. Not that there was much time to do that anyway.

She scowled at him and he had to suppress a smirk because he knew how irritated she was when he was right. Which was, more often than not, all the time.

He bent his head and ruffled through the bag for a cloth and then walked to the bathroom to run it under the faucet. As the fabric became soaked, he couldn't help but remember the line of her body as she arched out the window and fired her gun, the absolute confidence and bravery she carried on her shoulders. A smile curled at his lips. That was Hawkeye for you, always so completely sure of her actions as she carried them out with the kind of decisiveness Roy himself treasured.

And then there was the fact that she protected him. Fiercely. His thoughts flashed back to earlier that evening when they'd been tucked into a booth table at the musky restaurant. The men they were listening too saw the holster of her gun flashing at the creamy skin of her thigh and it had all gone to hell.

Of course, she had it unsheathed in the blink of an eye, throwing her body in front of his as the thugs open fired on them. She got both of them cleanly in the shoulder and they'd made their escape, but then others that had been around the premises must have stolen a car or had one ready, because they'd chased Roy and Hawkeye down once they themselves had gotten into their vehicle.

It's not like it was an irregular situation either. When the danger was in his face, she was the mask to act as the barrier. Given, it was her job, but both of them could feel the urgency to protect when trouble loomed, and Roy tasted it in the back of his mouth even now as he turned off the faucet and returned to the bedroom. He was the most important piece to the resistance organization which is why he got teamed with the best shot in the compound: a woman who took the position seriously despite how sharp her tongue could get with him.

Well, it didn't matter. He was lucky to have her, truly, and that was that.

As he reentered the room, he looked up to see that she'd discarded her evening dress for a large shirt. His eyes automatically wandered up her long legs, but stopped on the gashes and he cringed before kneeling before her again and swiping the wet cloth against the cuts.

"How are you feeling?" he asked seriously.

She leaned back on her arms and let her head fall back so she could stare at the ceiling. "Not too bad," she replied sheepishly and then sighed. "You don't have to do this, Mustang. I can clean myself up."

"It's alright," his voice was subdued, quiet. He wouldn't meet her eyes when she looked at him. "I don't mind."

Silence descended upon them as he cleaned and wrapped the deepest cuts; it was nothing serious, but it couldn't feel good either. When he was finished, he brought her a paper cup of water and tucked the medicinal bag back underneath his sloppy, makeshift bed.

"So what do you think they meant?" She rose to her feet and stretched up, her shoulders popping as she worked out the kinks. His eyes caught on the edge of her shirt, how it rode up to expose her underwear and a sliver of her stomach. "Eyes up here, Mustang."

He looked up to see her with a raised eyebrow and he cleared his throat before shrugging. "You mean about upheaval in the East? I've no idea. Shouldn't you be putting on pants now?"

She went to her drawers and pulled out a pair of socks. "Yes. It sounded like it was supposed to be that way. Like they were planning on things heating up out there." He swallowed as she looked back at him, like she was expecting answers. Of course, that's usually what he gave her, and he wished he could say something intelligent now, but she was hardly wearing clothing. He was only human; he could hardly be blamed. If anyone was the culprit it was her. For protecting him. For understanding him. For taking what he gave and then some. For having what he needed.

Unable to control himself, he stepped up to where she was sitting cross-legged on the bed and reached for the clip in her hair. She didn't move as he unlatched it from the strands and they fell in waves around her slim face. His fingers ran the length of her hair from scalp to the ends, lingering around her collarbone and tangled in the strands.

"You probably shouldn't be this close to me," she said, but there was no force in her words.

"Mmm," he grunted, sensing that her guard was down, and wanting to take advantage of it. "You should wear your hair down more often."

She looked up at him and frowned. "Flattery isn't going to do you any good." Her hand encircled his wrist and she pulled it away from her, meeting his eyes solidly; it was amazing she knew exactly where he was headed. "I want to show you the secrets to Flame Alchemy, you know I do. But -"

He sighed and plopped down next to her. "It's not safe, yeah, yeah, I got it. When will it ever be safe?"

A smile cracked her lips before flitting away quickly and she leaned toward him. "When we get back to the compound."

"Or you could show me now."

She hesitated. "I don't. . ."

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger before looking at her solemnly. "I have to learn it, Hawkeye. You've been putting this off since you told me you had the notes. What was that; like a month ago?"

She took a deep breath. "I know."

"You and I both know that me learning Flame Alchemy would give the organization a big advantage." He'd seen the effects of it, and the kind of power it presented to the wielder was incredible. The Amestrian military - alchemists or not - would stand no chance against him.

"It's not that simple," she muttered at him, meeting his gaze strictly.

"Why not?" he demanded. "Do you not trust me with it?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she hissed, recoiling from him. "I trust you more than anyone and you know that."

"Then what is it?"

She surprised him when her face reddened and she drew her arms tight around herself. He couldn't know how embarrassed she was, how ashamed and empty she felt because of these sacred notes that her father died protecting. Mustang barely knew that she trusted him with her life, with everything she had, despite his idiocy sometimes. All of her dreams of the future she wanted were products of his success and he barely knew that she'd happily die pushing him in the right direction.

"It's hard to explain," she finally said.

"I've got all night."

She shook her head, more to herself than at his words. "Roy."

His body leaned toward her, lending its heat as the chill sprinkled goosebumps across her skin. First names were not used lightly between each other; they meant serious business and it scared him that she was using it now.

"What is it?" he whispered, placing a hand over hers, foreboding leaking into his expression from the tone of her voice. "What's wrong?"

Her eyes looked up into his, and she looked so vulnerable that his heart almost broke. Riza Hawkeye was about the most untouchable human being he'd ever met, and to see her in so much apprehension and so open about it grabbed him by the heart and squeezed relentlessly. Just as he was about to wave her off, tell her she didn't have to say another word, her eyes filled with resolve and she turned away from him abruptly.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice raising as she reached for the hem of her shirt and began to yank it upwards. He stuttered, but his eyes followed the line of fabric as it inched up and exposed more and more skin. In no time at all, the only thing she was wearing was her underwear, the shirt cast on the floor; the blush that had sprinkled across his face vanished and he frowned immediately at the sight. "What the hell is that?"

A moment of silence hung in the room like a stagnant cloud, leaving a bad taste in both of their mouths. Hawkeye turned her head slightly and met his eyes over her shoulder. He wondered what he looked like, what his face was betraying. Upon seeing the fierce fight to appear indifferent on her face, he saw. Saw what she really felt.

"It's what you want so badly," she murmured with a bit of acid in her voice, gathering her hair over one shoulder.

He moved his eyes from hers down to the red inked lines on her back, reaching out to touch flesh that hadn't been touched in years. His warm, calloused fingers skimmed along as he recognized some of the symbols and lines. A part of him wondered why he wasn't thrilling at the prospect of having the code to Flame Alchemy presented before his very eyes but he knew why all too well. Instead of asking questions he thought he should, his lips moved of their own accord.

"Did it hurt?"

She tensed, all her muscles bunching as her expression remained unwavering. "It took weeks. Hours upon hours every day. If I had known what it would have felt like, I never would have given him permission to deface my body this way." A deep breath shuddered through her. "You're the only one I've ever shown, Mustang. If it's not too much to ask, I'd like to keep this between us."

He could only sit there in abject horror, struck speechless by the facts she presented. Anger and disgust filled him; his master had done this to her. His own daughter. How despicable; and Roy hadn't been there to stop it. He'd left, gone off to join a military that was beyond saving with nothing more than a kiss on her cheek.

His head fell forward, forehead pressed to the back of her neck as his hands gripped the bed sheets on either side of her legs. Teeth clenched, blood pounding with rage, eyes screwed shut as he tried to wish away the intense heat of his anger. Nothing could be done about this now; her father was dead and the lines were permanent. The clever bastard had done everything he could to preserve his precious research and damn it if he accomplished that.

She was stiff under him, feeling his hot breath on her back, surprised by his reaction. What was going through his mind? She had no clear shot of his face, had no way to tell at all what he was thinking. In a silent gesture of comfort for whatever was coursing through him, she placed her hands atop his.

Hawkeye wasn't used to such closeness with him, certainly not while she sat there naked on her bed, but showing him this tattoo had changed something instantly. If they were bound together before, this matter pulled the string even tighter. Her hands loosened his fists and she intertwined her fingers through his, her palms on the backs of his hands.

"Calm down there, Mustang, you're chomping at the bit," she said softly, a bit of amusement at her own pun laced through her voice.

"I had no idea that he. . .that he would. . ." Roy took a deep breath.

"If you actually think I'm going to let you blame yourself, you're wrong," she told him sternly. "I made the decision. Nothing was forced on me; I chose this. For a moment in my life, my father had treated me like I was important. He smiled at me more often. He. . .paid attention to me. For all the wrong reasons, granted, but at the time I was too stupid to realize it." She leaned back and tilted her head so that she was looking at him. "You aren't allowed to blame yourself. Is that clear?"

He stared at her for a moment, not even fazed that he was practically getting an eyeful of her breasts. "Treating me like _I'm_ the subordinate. Cute."

She raised her eyebrow. "Do you want me to start calling you sir and kissing your ass?"

Roy felt his lips twitch but he couldn't muster up enough amusement to overthrow the horror. "No. I prefer you this way. Though the kissing I could do."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "No thank you."

After another pause she let go of his hands and leaned forward exposing her back again. She hadn't wanted to do this here, on an open field mission, but Mustang had given her no choice and now there was no turning back. She smiled a little and stared at the stained carpet. "The secrets are yours now. I'm trusting you with them."

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For any other team in the compound, it would have been impossible to have snuck back into the exact same restaurant to spy on the exact same men who worked under the military officers that held the information they needed. Hawkeye and Mustang were a completely different matter all together. Despite only having been working together for a year, they'd shared the same house for 3 years while Roy learned alchemy from her father. They didn't know everything about each other but they knew how to be as one.

Roy certainly wasn't fond of going back in, but as Riza had pointed out many times over the course of the night, this was an imperative mission that would bring both of them even more status back at the compound. It was important for Mustang to be in the best graces possible, despite his short term engagement with the resistance group so far. Riza would see to it that he got there and stayed. It was, after all, for her benefit too.

Besides, she wasn't fond of the current leader. He was ruthless and too many resistance members had died under his command, causing most of the teams to become uneasy and blindingly obedient. It was true that he was cunning but he lacked strategy, something she knew that Mustang excelled at. She would never voice it out loud, but if anyone at the compound should be the leader, she wanted it to be him.

All of these things led up to where the two of them were sitting now, in one of the darkest corners of a booth, the shadows covering their faces as their meals went cold on the ceramic plates before them. They'd arrived early to make sure they were better concealed from view and Roy couldn't help but grin in success as the two men they recognized from last night sat at the same table.

"Bingo," he said softly.

Hawkeye pressed her shoulder against his, slouching on his arm to create a different picture than their stiff, separated posture from last night. "There's an envelope stuffed into Larson's left inside jacket pocket," she murmured. "I bet that tells us everything we need to know."

"Nice eyes, Hawkeye," he told her; she had a reputation for her vision and her aim around the compound, and Roy remembered a lot of it well from the days she used to spend swinging around that old rifle as a young teenager, but she still impressed him every time. His eyesight was good and even he couldn't pick up on details from so far away. She truly had a gift. "How do you suggest we get that from him?"

She looked up at him and smiled slightly. "Leave that part to me. Our biggest problem is going to be getting the receiver out of the way long enough for me to swoop in."

His voice turned amused. "I didn't know you swooped." He almost chuckled when he realized how well that fit with her surname.

"Don't be such a smartass," she sighed.

"I can't help it that I'm stunningly witty."

"Is that what they call it nowadays?"

He nudged her with his elbow irritably though he couldn't hide the smirk on his face now. Her banter was probably the most entertaining and refreshing thing he knew, even if she did it in an attempt to wound his ego. It didn't necessarily help that she was dressed to the nines tonight - hair curled and pinned back, the black dress covering her back but exposing a large portion of her chest, pearls circling her neck, lips painted red.

She was something else, that's for sure. One moment she was chastising him to the point where he wanted to gag her and the next he was embarrassingly attracted to her. He'd bite his own tongue off before he admitted _that_ aloud.

"What do you think?" he asked, bending down a little bit so that his lips were closer to her ear.

She repressed a shiver and refused to look at him out of stubbornness and, honestly, a little bit of fear. "Why are you asking me?" she murmured back, glad that their booth was dim, that he couldn't see her face in this moment. "Aren't you the one with all the plans?"

He paused for a moment before replying. "Unfortunately, I seem to be rather distracted tonight."

A frown pulled at her lips and her eyebrows furrowed but she still couldn't bring herself to look up into his face. "That's dangerous, Mustang." They were sitting too close, but it was for safety's sake and the warmth that exuded from him was too comfortable to leave anyway. She kept her eyes trained on the two men sitting at the table only so many feet away and tried to ignore just exactly what she was thinking.

Stupid. This was an important mission and she was thinking about how warm he was? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

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**Just to be clear, this is NOT going to be continued, especially not as of right now; you can find the revised draft of this story on my page and it's called Fire Away, which holds on to a lot of the background ideas I had in mind while writing this snippet.**

**I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!**


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